A Wicked Deception (3 page)

“Well, here I am.
” He scowled fiercely. “Why are you talking to the police?”

“Robbie, meet
Mr. Ogilvy. He went to West Point in America.” She smiled at both men. “This is Robbie Pritchard.”

“Call me Tom, you too, Miss O’Dea,” he invited.

Robbie mumbled a greeting before turning his back on the American. To make up for his rudeness, she favored Tom with an extra friendly smile.

“Goodbye, Miss O’Dea.”

“Nice to have met you Tom
.” She waved goodbye as he rode away. “Robbie, how’s your father?”

“Seems a bit better today
, ought to rest more, though, but try telling him, stubborn old bastard.”

“
Don’t call your father bad names.”

“All right.”
He absently patted her horse’s neck. “Come over to the tent, I’ll put the billycan on for some tea.”

“Thanks, I do feel thirsty.”

He helped her dismount with his hands about her waist, as always holding her for slightly longer than necessary. He pulled her close and gave her a long, hard kiss. She slipped her arms around his neck, and they stood with their bodies pressed together for a few precious moments before he reluctantly stepped away.

C
old ate into her bones when she no longer had the comforting warmth of his body. The strength of his arms allayed her fears, his bravery infusing her with courage.

After tethering her horse, they made their way to a small calico tent on the slope of a hill not far from Canadian
Gully. As they walked along, she filled him in on her visit to Guilford Lodge.

“See, I always said he was a snob. They shouldn’t have treated you like that
. Who the hell do they think they are?” Robbie exploded. “I ought to go over and punch Guilford in the mouth.”

He held the tent flap back for her to enter
. As she passed by him, she could feel the tension in his body. He always took any slight against her personally.

The smallness of the tent assailed her straight away. The whole area
scarcely measured more than about twelve feet by eight feet. Pathetically furnished, it had two tree stumps for chairs and a tea chest table. Two stretchers made from forked stakes and saplings were covered with a sheepskin and some blankets. Forks, knives, spoons, plates and mugs lay on the table.

A cooking fire burned outside the tent
. Robbie poked at the glowing coals and threw on a couple of logs before hanging the blackened billycan on a forked stick.

“There’s a hunk of cheese somewhere, bread too I think, if you’re hungry.”

“No thanks, just tea will do to warm me up.” From somewhere close by came the fretful crying of a baby. It would take tremendous fortitude for a woman to survive with children in such harsh conditions. Could she do it? Melanie closed her eyes. Of course, she could. She would willingly give up her comfortable home if Robbie asked her to. No sacrifice would be too great as long as they could be together.

“Tea’s nearly ready.” He waited another minute or two before emptying the scalding liquid into three tin mugs. “I’ll
go and get Father. Our shaft is down more than fifty feet now, still not a trace, though.” He grimaced. “I’m trying for the alluvial stuff in between helping in the shaft. There’s plenty being found in the creek. We’d do better there, but try telling him that, stubborn old goat.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

When
Robbie returned to the tent he was followed by his elderly, stooped father.

“Good morning, Uncle Alex.”
Melanie smiled. He wasn’t really her uncle, but a distant relative.

“
I’m pleased to see you, my dear.” He greeted her warmly, but deep bags hung under his eyes, and his skin wore a sickly pallor. He looked old and frail. The worry darkening Robbie’s eyes constricted her heart.

“Did this boy of mine offer you something to eat?”

“I don’t feel hungry, thanks.” In truth she could have done with something to eat, but they had so little food she hated taking any of it.

James kept them supplied with mutton. Each time he killed a sheep he always sent some over. Sometimes she would bake pies or biscuits for them, although she had to be careful it wasn’t
misunderstood. Proud Uncle Alex offended easily.

“Found much gold lately?” she asked.

He smiled through bushy whiskers. “A couple of small nuggets last week, but I’ve a feeling here.” He thumped his chest. “We’re about to strike it rich.”

How many times had they heard this before?
Robbie rolled his eyes behind his father’s back and she stifled a giggle.

“Don’t go wandering off, son
. After your tea, you can go back to working the cradle for me.”

“Could I help?”
Melanie offered.

“My dear child, certainly not
, mining is man’s work.”

“I saw some women panning as I rode in. I could easily work the cradle for a while.”

The old man looked mortified at the very idea, and Robbie grinned at her. “Stubborn old goat,” he mouthed disrespectfully and she smothered a laugh by turning it into a cough.

Uncle Alex would be more at home in a schoolroom or working in an office, he wasn’t physically robust enough to be a miner.

She didn’t know much about mining except for it being hard dirty work, more often than not, unrewarding. James had explained about the cradle being a wooden box where the pay dirt got shoveled. Rocking it backwards and forwards would separate the lighter sand and gravel from the heavier gold. She could easily operate a contraption like that.

“There was a slight fall in the winze at Jim McBride’s claim,” Uncle Alex said.

“Anyone hurt?” Robbie asked.

“No, gave them more of a fright than anything else, didn’t use enough timber I should say. Always in such a hurry these young fellows, makes them careless.”

“What’s the winze?” Melanie knew a few mining terms, but not this one.

“My dear, the winze is the shaft connecting the underground workings.”

“Make a digger out of you yet.” Robbie chuckled. He ran his fingers through his riotous curls, giving them an even more unruly appearance and she wanted to reach out and smooth them back into place.

“I
f you don’t need me to work the cradle I’ll go, I’ve got a few things to do at home.” She placed her mug on the tea chest.

“Goodbye, my dear.” Uncle Alex smiled as Robbie held back the tent flap so she could pass through.

“I’m back, Bess.” She rubbed her little mare’s nose. Robbie stood so close now she could feel his warm breath caressing the back of her neck and it sent tingles down her spine.

“Oh, Melanie,” he groaned, dragging her into his arms. “I love you so much.”
His mouth closed over hers in a devastating kiss. It quickly had her pulses racing out of control and heat pooling deep within her belly. She felt his tongue moving inside her mouth, darting, flicking, plundering all her sweetness, yet obviously craving more. When she entwined her tongue around his, he trembled with emotion.

Suddenly she was free. “Oh God, Mel,” his voice rasped
. “I want you so badly it’s killing me.”

Robbie
helped her mount and then she rode away. After a short time, she turned around to wave. He stood motionless, standing straight and tall like a fearless young gladiator waiting to be blooded.

Her heart filled with dread. Her
insides quivered. The moisture in her mouth dried up, making it difficult to swallow. If the gold fields exploded into violence, courage alone would not be enough to save him.

Chapter
Two

One evening, several days after
they had first met, Tom Ogilvy called in to see Melanie. Out of uniform, he wore tight fitting white moleskin trousers tucked into black knee-length boots. The white linen showing beneath his dark jacket appeared to be of the finest quality.

“Good evening, Miss O’Dea.” He clicked his heels and bowed slightly as he took her proffered hand in a rather extravagant gesture.

“Mr. Ogilvy, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, I’d like you to meet my brother James.” She introduced the two men, watching her brother’s closed-lipped smile. He hesitated for a moment before shaking hands with Tom.

“My sister tells me you’re a trooper in the police force.”

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve only been in the colony for a short time, so I needed to gain employment straight away.” He gave a half shrug before taking the seat James indicated. “Please call me Tom.”

He appeared to be about twenty-five, clean-shaven with neatly combed black hair
skimming his collar. His voice sounded well educated, even though he spoke with a pronounced drawl.

“You’re an American?” James queried
, obviously picking up on the accent.

“Yes, I lived on a plantation in
Georgia.”

Melanie longed to ask what he was doing in
Australia, but did not quite dare for fear of being considered forward. James obviously held no such qualms. “What brings you to Australia?”

“A dispute with my father.” Tom shrugged
. “I wanted to expand, buy more land, and get more slaves....”

“Slaves?”
Shocked, she butted in on the conversation.

“Yes, we have over a hundred, but the Abolitionists in the North are making things difficult for plantation owners like us
. They keep inciting slaves to rebel. They hide runaways.” He spat the last few words out.

“It’s cruel keeping slaves
! For one man to own another is fiendish.” Melanie couldn’t stop the words of condemnation.

“I agree,” James backed her up. “I’m glad we don’t have that kind of thing out here.”

“Slaves are treated well on most plantations,” Tom’s voice remained calm but his eyes flashed. “They’re valuable property. A fit young field hand costs fifteen hundred dollars, slave children are worth a hundred dollars at birth, and their value increases every year.”

“Do you have many slaves that are half white?” she asked with a morbid curiosity.

“You mean mulattoes?”

“Yes, if that’s what you call slaves with white blood
. What happens to the baby, if say the father is white?”

“By law, the child of a slave mother is automatically a slave, regardless of who
fathered it.”

H
is callousness made her shiver, and James’ lips compressed. Clearly realizing he did not have a sympathetic audience, Tom steered the conversation back to more mundane things. She heaved a sigh of relief when he left a short time afterwards. In all conscience she didn’t want anything to do with a slave owner.

***

The night of the ball finally arrived. Melanie had been plagued with nerves over the preceding days, excitement about going to her first ball tempered by worry. What if she did something wrong and made a fool of herself? What if she got herself talked about because she didn’t have a chaperone? At times like this she really missed her mother. They would have had such fun planning a special gown, experimenting with hairstyles.

The
white muslin gown she had sewn was cut rather low, exposing more bare flesh than she had ever showed in public before. The flounced skirt, supported by numerous petticoats, sat out beautifully, emphasizing her tiny waist.

She dressed her hair carefully, drawing it back from a centre parting with ringlets falling over her shoulders
. If there had been another woman to help her, she would have worn an even more sophisticated style.

Robbie strode into the room and skidded to a halt.
“You look….” He swallowed several times. “Beautiful.”

“Yes you do
.” James stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. “You’re so grown up.”

Their lavish praise ease
d the nervous tension in her stomach and stilled her trembling knees.

Robbie wore black trousers and a loosely knotted white silk tie
. His navy knee length evening coat had large buttons down the front.

“You look handsome,” she said, not even trying to disguise her admiration
in front of James. “Where did you get the clothes from?”

“Borrowed them.” He
gave a cheeky grin, his eyes sparkling with devilment.

Draping her mother’s dark green velvet cloak around her shoulders, she slipped her hand through Robbie’s arm. A coach drawn by a pair of black horses and driven by a liveried coachman waited in the front yard
. James whistled in astonishment.

She swallowed several times because her throat felt constricted.
“Did you hire it especially for tonight?” she asked, in a voice husky with wonder.

Robbie laughed, and
, ignoring James’ frown, brushed her forehead with his lips. “For the prettiest girl in Ballarat, nothing is too good.”

“Thank you, this is going to be a night I’ll never forget, but where did you get the money from?”

“I stashed a bit away,” he said evasively, as he helped her into the coach. When her skirts were settled over the red velvet seat he sat opposite and clasped her hand.

“Have a good time both of you,” James
said, “and Robbie, take good care of her. I really think you should have organized a chaperone.”

“
Who would I get? Anyway, everyone thinks we’re cousins. I’d never do anything to tarnish her reputation. I’d die for Melanie, you know that.”

They didn’t speak for a time
, both of them too intent on enjoying the unfamiliar luxury of riding in such a grand coach. No horse to control, no buggy to drive, nothing to do except sit on the gloriously soft seats and indulge their senses, soak up the ambience.

Finally she broke the silence. “You shouldn’t spend your money on me like this.”

“Why not? I want you to have a night you’ll always remember.”

N
o moon or stars lit their way because heavy banked up clouds had swallowed up the sky. She shivered in her light clothing, but a foot warmer on the floor of the coach kept her feet cozy. As they breasted a hill, she gazed out into the distance. Hundreds of fires burning brightly outside the diggers’ tents created a beautiful, if eerie scene.

The
Commissioner of Police’s residence, three miles out of Ballarat, was the venue for the ball. The mansion stood in a large beautiful garden, lit by ornamental lanterns strategically positioned around the grounds. The carriage wheels crunched on the gravel drive, and when they turned into a large courtyard, she gasped in surprise at the line of opulent coaches.

Light spilled
out from practically every window of the large double storey house. Robbie helped her out of the coach with a hand at her elbow and her feet sank into something soft. A scarlet carpet strip, rolled out from the courtyard area to the marble steps leading on to the verandah, saved her dainty evening slippers from getting wet and muddied.

With her arm
now linked through Robbie’s she felt quite regal as he escorted her inside. A uniformed manservant took her cloak, and a maid showed them into a stately reception room. A large portrait of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, in coronation robes hung in a gold frame on the wall opposite the door.

A waiter
approached them, and Robbie picked up a glass for each of them. She had never tasted champagne before and the bubbles got up her nose as she nervously gulped down a couple of mouthfuls.

Glancing at the elegant silk and taffeta gowns worn by the
other ladies added to her feelings of insignificance. Diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, twinkled about their throats, wrists and fingers. Her simple gold cross looked as out of place here as she did.

She recognized some of the guests by sight or from seeing their pictures in the newspapers. Prominent leaders of the community, wealthy landowners, all well represented here tonight.
People like herself and Robbie did not belong with judges, surgeons and the landed gentry.

Robbie wandered
away from her, and as she desperately glanced around trying to find him, she spied Tom Ogilvy. When she waved to him he strolled over.

“Good evening. Care to dance, Miss O’Dea?”

“Yes, thank you,” she accepted eagerly, desperate to get away from the scrutiny of several haughty ladies who didn’t bother concealing their curiosity as to why someone like her would attend a function such as this.

An eight-piece orchestra play
ed a waltz, one of the few dances in her limited repertoire.

Tom proved to be an accomplished dancer
. “You waltz very well, Miss O’Dea, you’re as light as thistledown.”

“Thank you.”
She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “You dance well, too.”

When the dance ended, Tom escorted her from the floor and back to her seat
. She cast nervous glances at several well-dressed, obviously wealthy guests. Stewards, wearing red coats with blue collars, gilt buttons on their flaps and cuffs, and blue waistcoats over black breeches, scurried by, adding to the atmosphere.

Michael enter
ed the reception room with Priscilla clinging to his arm. His expression registered surprise at seeing Melanie, but he smiled and inclined his head. Priscilla, after giving her a haughty glance, rudely turned her back.

How dare she? Melanie fumed
. Who did this woman think she was?

“May I have the next dance?” Tom led her on to the dance floor before she could frame a refusal. His face appeared flushed now, and he held her much closer than on the previous occasion
. His breath, heavy with the smell of spirits, stirred her hair.

Thank goodness
when the dance finished he led her back to where Robbie stood. So, he had decided to honor her with his presence had he? She ignored him and accepted Tom’s offer to dance again. Robbie scowled fiercely but she didn’t care. Why bother bringing her here if he kept on disappearing? It was humiliating and she wouldn’t put up with it.

An hour or so after his arrival Michael strolled over.

“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” He smiled and held out his hand
.

“Thank you
, I’d like that.” He escorted her on to the dance floor. She couldn’t understand why no other man except Robbie and Tom had asked her to dance. She might not be the prettiest girl in the room, but certainly wasn’t the ugliest either.

“You look
enchanting, my dear,” Michael whispered in her ear. “You dance well, too. I’ve been watching.”

“Thank you, I learnt from an expert.”

“Oh!” He quirked an enquiring eyebrow.

“You
. Don’t you remember?” She laughed. “James accompanied us on the piano in your drawing room.”

“Ah yes, I’d forgotten. Tell me, what are you doing here?”

“Robbie brought me. He won two tickets in a card game.”

“Rubbish
. That young devil is up to something.”

“Please.” Her lips trembled. “Don’t spoil things for me. I’ve had a wonderful evening. Robbie
arranged for us to come in a fine coach with velvet seats and a liveried coachman. I felt like a princess.”

“You’re so sweet.” With one finger he pushed back a stray tendril of hair that had
worked its way loose and fallen across her cheek.

“
So, here you are, Michael.” Priscilla minced up to them. She offered no greeting, so the smile froze on Melanie’s lips

His hand dropped away. “Priscilla, I wondered where you were. You remember Melanie?”

“Of course. Lord and Lady Beckworth have been asking for you.”

“We’d better not keep them waiting. Thank you for the dance, my dear.” He bowed slightly.

“Goodbye.” Melanie bit her lip to stop the angry words spilling out of her mouth at Priscilla’s snub. What a horrible, rude creature.

They made a striking couple. Priscilla’s gown of lemon silk sat low at the front, showing the swell of creamy white breasts, and her skirt belling out over numerous petticoats emphasized her tiny waistline.

Tom walked towards her with an uneven gait. “I’ve been s … searching for you.” He slurred his words. “It’s hot in here.” He ran a trembling finger around his collar. “Let’s take some fresh air on the terrace.”

She shook her head
. Casting a desperate glance around the room, she searched for Robbie who was nowhere to be seen. He had neglected her shamefully. She would have no hesitation in telling him so at the first opportunity. Tom grabbed her hand, his fingers bit into her flesh as he dragged her through the double glass doors opening on to the empty terrace.